His soft spot
by Norwegian2011
Summary: "After the war, Ron Weasley thought he never would hear about the Deathly Hallows again. He was poorly mistaken." Contains Romione, The Golden Trio switching POV's. Rated T due to action scenes and substance abuse. This fic takes place around the same time as the epilogue, though it differs from the book to a certain degree. R&R would be highly appreciated. Thank you.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

After the war, Ron Weasley actually thought that the world he lived in would be at peace. He thought that all the Death Eaters were taken care of, that justice would find place, and he thought he never would hear about the Deathly Hallows again. He was poorly mistaken.

So naive. He hated himself for it, he cried in anger and regret. Well, he hadn't cried in a while. Not since he came here. The assasination of Voldemort was a hard stroke towards the Death Eaters, of course, but not as striking, as motivating, to continue his work against the so-called "mudbloods" and "halfbloods" and last, but not the least, Harry Potter.

Oh no, the motivation was undescribeably strong. So strong, that the whole legal system, every witch and wizard, even the ministry, laid their loyalty in the Death Eaters hands. Or, even better put, the legal system and ministry _was _the Death Eaters. Led by the survivors of The Battle of Hogwarts. The coup had been easy to complete, perhaps it was the optimism following Riddle's death that blinded us all. Made us vulnerable. Ron often thought about the time after Rufus Scrimgeur passed, the state of the Wizarding Society was worse than before.

Harry Potter, was a hero to noone but his friends and family, nor was he, or Hermione considered as anything close to a hero. It was quite the opposite. In some twisted way, the Death Eaters had made the fallen Tom Riddle the hero of the story, fighting for his people. And Harry Potter, and his companions, the filthy mudblood Hermione Granger and the traitor Ron Weasley, were the villains.

Ron hadn't seen Hermione or his daughter Rose in over a year. They fled when the riots got the best of them and the Death Eaters inspections became a daily nightmare. He would join them, but it was better if they split. Then maybe their daughter Rose would have a somewhat detached relationship to the conflict. Right now she was in the middle of it all, and they both knew how that was like, being fighting Voldemort at Harry's side in their early teenage years.

He could still recall Hermione's look of despair when the sentence they had both thought for weeks, finally was said by her, out loud.

"We can't stay here, Ron. They'll kill us in the end."

He had no idea where they went, as to protect them if the Death Eaters took him to Azkaban and went through his memory. And that was exactly where they took him, or, that was where he thought they had taken him, anyway. His family had been informed, he had heard the echo of his mother's voice from her patronus.

"I'm just worried for him, you see. I don't want to bother you or anything, I promise I will never contact you again, or make a fuss. If you could only tell me where you've taken my boy." his mother pleaded, her firm and sharp tongue completely absent.

This led Ron to believe two things.

For one, his mother was buond to know who was in charge of his capture. And this person must be quite easy to reach. It could be a public person, perhaps from the ministry or one of the most highly respected Death Eaters. Hell, it was impossible to find out, and what good would it do? All he could do, was hope that Harry wasn't caught up in this, and that his girls was safely hidden. It was no hope for him, he knew that now. He had been in this dark dungeon for too long, he would loose his mind, if he din't starve to death first.

In a second, the door of his dungeon opened, and a wave of light filled the room so Ron had to cover his eyes, just in time to hear a familiar voice.

"So, you really think we will let you of the hook this easily, eh? Let you become a looney like your brother?"

It was years since he'd heard the voice of Draco Malfoy last, but it was just the same. Ron tried to straightened up, rise as much as the ropes tight around his hand and legs let him, before he looked his former nemesis right in the eyes, without saying a word.

"Oh, so you're doing the silence thing? Well dont worry, you'll talk real soon."

Malfoy said, in a carefree way, that made Ron feel wary. Malfoy whipped his wand, with a lazy expression, and a table and a chair appeared. He sat down in the chair, and rested his feet on the table.

"We know that your mudblood-wife fled the country. Russia, to be more precise. She's been followed from the moment she left your doorstep." Ron closed his eyes for a moment in resignation. If they tried to pressure him through Hermione…

"Yeah, thats right. And if you think your friend Harry Potter will be able to help her, you're terribly wrong. His been busy trying to persuade me not to harm you. You know, I actually thought he'd be a lot tougher? Defeating The Drak Lord, and all? It was quite a dissapointment when he stood down on his knees outside of my office just a week after you were, what is the official term, arrested."

Ron looked in Malfoys eyes once again, trying to look fearless, but knowing that Malfoy could see his pain over his friend from the grin on his face. Malfoy took his legs down from the table, leaned on his elbows, towards Ron, and said those stinging words, in a casual tone.

"Rosie's grown a lot."

Ron leaped towards Malfoy, driven by rage, his arms desperately reaching to punch his face, while Malfoy laughed, and waved at one of the guards watching Ron's cell.

"Get the girl." he said, and turned to Ron with his head shaking.

"You are so predictable, Weasley. You could have saved that girls life, if you'd kept your act together. Such a shame. Rose was a pretty girl."

"Don't you dare use her name, Malfoy, don't you dare!" Ron said, through his teeth, his head spinning with thought. Malfoy was just testing him. He was just testing his love for Rose. Don't say another word, he thought to himself. If you love her, then shut the hell up!

"I told you. Told you, you would talk."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Fierce pain struck Ron's body, and made him tighten all his muscles. He was tied to a chair, sitting at the table across Malfoy.

"Three Words, Weasley. The Deathly Hallows. That's what I want." Malfoy said, stood up from his chair, and pointed his wand at him, only to give him another round of torture.

"When you tell me where they are," he said, emphasized 'when' as if there was only a matter of time,

"I will leave you and everyone you care about, alone. That's your deal. And let's be honest," he said, walking not restlessly, but still impatient around in the room.

"I have immediate access to every witch or wizard in Europe that's ever been connected or associated with you. I can make your family's life a living hell. And I'm not hesitant to do so, either."

Ron shook his head in disbelief, and looked at him with narrow eyes.

"You don't believe me?" Malfoy asked, and without waiting for an answer, he opened the dungeons door and turned to the guard he'd spoken to earlier.

"Fetch me the file on Ronald B. Weasley" he said, and moments later, Malfoy held a large envelope in his hand. He opened it, and took a bunch of photographs out of it, plus some papers.

He put one of the photographs on the table, and with a large smile of satisfaction he watched Ron look at it in bewilderment. The photo showed his brother Percy writing at his desk at work, but it must've been more than four years old. "This isn't our latest photo, obviously. We've had independent agents just working with keeping an eye on him. You've really grown close to your brother, haven't you?" Just to support his argument he laid eight other photo's of Percy on the table, drinking firewhisky at his regular hang out, outside and at his current work place, even a few taken inside his home. Someone had been in his brother's house.

Ron looked at him in disgust.

"Are you a sick man?" he asked, and Malfoy laughed quietly, showing his next trump card, as if it was rehearsed.

"Ironic that you brought that up." Malfoy added, and Ron cursed at his face when he realized that the piece of paper he was looking at had the sign of St. Mungos in the right corner. George had some serious problems after the death of his twin Fred, but had recovered after a fight of about five years. The paper Malfoy playfully waved at Rons face with, was the paper that gave Geogre permission to live his life properly, without being baby sitted by doctors and having to take treatments every minute of the day.

He was rarely by himself, since he had a history of falling back to his old ways, but he'd been able to attend their Harry's birthday party a few years back, and Ron could still remember the twinkle of a tear in his brother's eye when Harry thanked him for coming. He'd been normal for three hours.

"You know, I'm starting to feel, as the head of your brother's department, that I doubt the credibility of this examination. I think it would be best if the patient was locked up a bit, eh? Tied up, at a single room of course…"

"Why me?"

Ron interrupted, and gave Malfoy a fierce look. "What makes you think I know anything about The Deathly Hallows?"

A flash of uncertainty went through Malfoy's eyes before he pointed his wand against him and said "Crucio!" as if it was a habit.

Ron bit his lower lip in surpise and agony over his pain, and felt an immediate taste of blood in his mouth. Draco whipped his wand at Ron's direction, giving him something similar to an electrical shock, till he sat down on the table, his face inches from Ron's while lifting his chin up by pressing the tip of his wand towards his skin.

"You think this is a game, Weasley? Huh? Think you can interrupt a Death Eater, true to his blood and people, if you wish to? You should know your place."

Ron didn't answer, and Malfoy, violently took his wand away from his face again, so his head fell forward.

"Maybe I should teach you a lesson, Weasley." Malfoy said, and there was something in his voice, not as teasing and arrogant as before, but more angered, more genuine and impulsive, that made Ron think that there was more to his threats this time, than empty words.


	3. Chapter 3

In the streets of Moscow a mother and her daughter, holding hands in quite a tensed manner, rushed through the main street in a way that made the impression that they weren't running towards something, but just away. And since the escape last fall, that had been Hermione's strategy. Dragging her daughter from England, to Spain, to Fleur's relatives in France, to Norway and Finland, with no direction or plan, just a fear of being caught. But this time, was a different one. This time she had a plan. She knew someone in Russia. Knew, being the dominant part of the sentence, but even though they hadn't talked for many, many years, she had a feeling that this person would not shut his door in her face like the rude French men had. No, this person used to be quite fond of her, in their teenage years. And he was a proper man. A brave man. A man she could trust.

"Come on, Altheda, don't slow down." Hermione said, rushing her daughter on.

She had told her daughter that she wanted to do something fun, like make up a pretend-game. If they pretended that Rose's name, was Altheda, from the fairytale, her favourite witch, and mum's name was Amata, from the same story, and that they didn't know anyone named Ron Weasley, and particularly not Harry Potter, and pretended that they were on an exiting adventure? It had been fun at first. But at the end, her daughter was bound to realize that it wasn't just a game. It was real. And they didn't pretend to be someone else for fun. It was because it was dangerous to be them. She was a big girl, should have attended her first year at Hogwarts if it wasn't for the new pureblood-only policy. What had Hermione been thinking, lying to her, trying to persuade her to think it was a game? So stupid. Like Rose truly believed any of that crap. But they needed the lie. They needed this lie to survive, forget about the exhaustion and the ache in their stomachs for lack of proper food.

"Come on, Altheda. Keep walking. Don't think, just keep walking. We'll be there soon enough, it's just around this corner. One more corner, come on." Hermione said, with her head spinning and her pulse pumping. "You said it was around _this _corner" Her daughter complained, tired. Hermione didn't answer her, just dragged her along, further down the street, out of the center of the city, towards some suburbs. After a long, rather confusing walk, they ended up outside of the house of Victor Krum. "Is this it, mum? Are we going to stay, here?"

"We'll have to wait and see, darling. Hush," she added, to her daughters frustration. Hermione knocked on the door, trying to fight the expectations, that, maybe he'll be home, and welcome them in, and give them food, and shelter. Maybe after all this time, there was someone left in this world whom she could count on. The door opened, and an unfamiliar woman about her age stood in front of her, and raised one eyebrow in scepticism, though, with eyes not lacking pity. "Victor? Victor Krum?" Hermione asked, and the woman gave her a gesture to wait, and called for him in Russian. Victor came, filled with recognition, and gave her a polite nod. "Hello" he greeted, and Hermione smiled at him, and then asked him the question that she'd dreaded to ask him every since she came here.

"Have you heard what the British Death Eaters say about me?"

Krum nodded, and added "The British thoughts have come to Russia, as well"

Hermione swallowed, to hold her tears back, and asked him, or pleading might be more like, "Am I still welcome? Me and my daughter, are we still welcome?" Krum gave her question some great deal of thought, before he smiled genuinely at her, and opened his door widely, gesturing her to come in. "Thank you" Hermione said, and went in the door, with her daughter in front of her.

"Mum, are we staying here? Are we safe here?" Rose asked, and for the first time, Hermione could give her a truthful answer and turned to her, smiling.

"Yes. We're finally safe" she said, and closed the door behind her, shutting out every Death Eater that were tracking them, and every bad memory that had haunted them the last year.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you want to rest little girl? My wife Vera will take you to bed"

Rose looked up at her mother for approval, and when Hermione nodded, smiling down at her daughter, the eleven year old girl ran up the stairs, walking two steps at a time, with Krums Russian wife Vera close behind. Hermione smiled apologetic towards her old friend, and Victor, expressionless and silent, showed her to the living room.

It wasn't much, but they didn't miss anything either. They had a dark blue couch with a matching armchair and a black coffe table. They had a nice carpet underneath the table, which reminded Hermione of the Southern Europe. In the window sill, there was a potted plant with yellow flowers stretching towards the sun light.

In the next room she could see part of a kitchen, but it wasn't very clean. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the Middle Ages. Hermione looked for photographs of their family or friends, but the walls were empty. Clearly thing's had changed in Krum's life as well.

Hermione sat down on their couch, and Krum sat down on the chair opposite her, still silent.

"Thank you so much for letting us stay, Victor." Hermione said, not sure whether they were on first names.

"I know it's a risk."

Victor Krum looked out of the window, silent. It was like the man that opened the door for them just a moment ago, was replaced with another. His dark eyes cold as ice, he looked nervous or troubled.

"You moved to Moscow after the wedding?"

Hermione asked, small-talking, and Krum nodded.

"Yes." he added, to Hermione's relief.

"I met Vera two years..." He stopped a moment, as to find the english word.

"Before. Two years before."

Hermione smiled encouraging, and Krum continued.

"We moved here when Death Eaters took too much control in Bulgaria. We moved... Very fast."

Hermione remembered the state Bulgaria was in. Three months after Britain was taken down, the movement spread to the rest of Europe, and Bulgaria was especially bad, she recalled reading in the papers. Photographs showed people running out of burning houses, and burglaries and murders of neighbours and friends. The headlines were daily "Another riot in Sofia". Total chaos in days. Hermione could understand why Krum seemed so absent minded. It must've been frightening to see his country turn in to a battlefield.

"There were many lost lives?" she asked.

Krum shrug his shoulders.

"Yes." he replied, after some silence.

"Every person who did not cooperate with the Death Eaters, dead."

There was a pause. Hermione's eyes sharpened. Everyone who didn't cooperate with the Death Eaters were killed? Did he just say, _everyone_?

Hermione nearly lost her breath. She stood up, alerting Krum.

"How come you're still here, Krum?" she asked, and not waiting for an answer, she ran past him towards the stairs.

Krum yelled of fury, and cast spells after her. She made a quick turn up the stairs, the wall behind her burst into flames of magic, and she could hear Krum run after her. She reached the top of the stairs, cursing herself for trusting that traitor. Cursing herself for thinking that a man didn't change from his school years to adulthood. Underestimating the Death Eaters cold grip, once again. She should've learnt who to trust, by now.

"ROSE!" she yelled.

"Wherever you are, run! Get away from these people! ROSE!"

There were five doors on each side of the wall, all leading in to rooms the size of a cabinet. Krum were panting, nearly on the top step, and Hermione flung every door open. Warderobe, office, an adult bedroom, a bathroom.

"Rose!" she called again, well knowing she alarmed Krum who just made the top of the stairs.

Hermione ran faster, flung open every door, calling Rose's name, ducking for every spell. She opened the last door, it was nursery room. She saw Rose asleep in a children's bed, with Vera Krum watching over her. The children paintings on the wall and the wand in Vera Krum's hand was an absurd contrast. Hermione grabbed for her own wand, ready to take the woman down, but realized soon enough that she'd lost it while running. She turned to see where she'd lost it, only to see Victor Krum standing behind her with her wand in his hand.

"As I told you, mrs Granger,"

He said, pointing at her with his wand,

"The British thoughts has come to Russia as well" he said.

Hermione ran towards her daughter, ignored by the Krums. They obviously thought there was nothing she could do. Maybe they were right. She pushed Vera Krum violently, who fought to hold her back, and grabbed Rose's tiny torso.

"You couldn't! You couldn't hurt a child!" Hermione said, almost stating.

"She is not hurt -" Victor Krum, said, taking a step towards her.

"An innocent child!" she interrupted Victor Krum, her voice filled with strength.

The Krum's seemed puzzled, this was obviously not a part of their plan.

"We will not kill her" mrs. Krum said, in English for the first time this day, stretching her arm against Hermione's shoulder.

"We will merely take her to our British brothers, she will sleep through it all"

Hermione rose, still shielding her daughter. Her glance swiped around the room. How could she get out? Out the window? How many floors was there to jump?

"If you even do a slightest attempt to separate me from my daughter, I promise you, you'll be very sorry!" she said, stalling, while she considered the injury they would get if they fell down towards the ground. Would they be able to run and hide? Maybe the element of surprise would work in their favour.

Victor Krum sighed, and said silently,

"I hoped this would not be necessary"

He pointed his wand at the proud mother, and made her faint, falling towards the wooden floor.

It was silent. The married couple looked at each other, instantly.

"I don't want her here in my house." Vera Krum finally stated in Russian.

"Who know's what she'll do when she wakes up? We shall take her with us"

Victor Krum nodded, and they counted from ten before they both, Hermione and Rose, travelled towards the British Islands.


	5. Chapter 5

**So, this is the newest chapter! I didn't think I'll upload anymore, but you've all been inspiring me so much! I'll have to thank everyone who has been fave'ing my story, and given me helpful reviews! I love you all, my darlings! It's so encouraging and inspiring to hear you give me such well-meant advice! ^^ Please do so again if you could spare the time. It's so wonderful to hear what you think!**

"His name is Ronald Weasley. Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

Harry was standing in front of the counter, and behind him, a queue of about eighty people were lined up with faces of tiredness and frustration. It was people with bags and purses filled with gold and other valuable objects to bail their loved ones out of the Death Eaters arrest with. The tension in the air was extremely distressed and the contrast between that reality, and the everyday-like office, filled with light, and with sterile, white walls, was repulsive.

"I'm terribly sorry sir, but you must be mistaken. We have no record of ever to have arrested a man by that name." the inpatient looking lady behind the counter insisted.

Everyone in this room wanted one thing. They didn't want peace, or democracy. They weren't interested in the greater good. All they wanted, was for _their _father, _their_ wife, or child to be released, and also knew that for every person that got loose from the Death Eater's grip, the smaller the chance of being free became for their family members.

Since Ron went missing Harry had been on the end of every queue like this he could see. He'd written letters, both official, and personal ones asking, in some cases pleading, for Ron's freedom. Visits at Malfoy Manner and his old class-mate Draco's office at the Death Eaters main centre, were daily. Not only, did he do this for the obvious reason, that Ron was like a brother to him. Maybe, even more than a brother. Ron was his soul twin. The one person he always could count on. In the darkest of times, when the rumours from the Death Eaters was about to get the best of him, Ron would always be there. Risking the life of his family, and himself. Without hesitation.

In addition to this, Harry knew that it was his fault. And not only did he know that, but his wife Ginny did, and she loathed him like the devil for it. Ron was taken because he's friends with Harry. That's all. And Harry had gone through his life, loosing so many people he loved, so many people he needed around him, that he'd reached a turning point; If Ron didn't make it, Harry wouldn't make it. And that was the truth. He had gone through so much, made so many sacrifices, but now it all felt meaningless. What really meant something in Harry's life, was the well-being of his closest. Not some bloody horcruxes or the Philosopher's Stone.

"I have money for bail, that I'm willing to pay to the Death Eater movement, all right? Ronald B. Weasley, I'm paying for him." Harry said, with a steady look.

What Harry couldn't add together, was this: Why didn't they just take _him_? He knew everything it was to know, and _he_ was the assassin. He was the big fish in the sea. But it seemed to him like the Death Eaters couldn't care less. They framed him all right, but they weren't interested in charging him for anything.

"Sir, you are mistaken. Now, I must ask you to please leave this premises," the worker behind the counter stated, before Harry interrupted her.

"No, I'm not mistaken!" He said, his head spinning with thought. Information about Ron were just a hand stretch away. He knew that the Death Eaters was behind his disappearance. But since they denied it, his hands were tied. His best friend was in a cell somewhere, suffering, because of Harry, and he just had to deal with it.

Harry didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity, or cry out in anger. He chose the last option.

"I've been to every office, and filled out every form there is, and I know that he's here, in one of those piles of paper,"

Harry said, pointing at the piles of forms and registers on the receptionist's desk.

"Somewhere, in one of those piles of paper you've got there, there is a paper where it says "Weasley", W, E, A…"

"I'm sorry, sir I must ask you to leave." The lady said, while the people behind Harry started pushing him towards the counter, yelling and shouting at him. Two guards came and grabbed him, and Harry yelled as to try to beat the crowd in a yelling competition.

"I HAVE GOLD, AND I'M WILLING TO GIVE YOU EVERYTHING, YOU HEAR ME? I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THERE IS, IF YOU GIVE ME THE FILE! I KNOW MALFOY! DRACO MALFOY, I KNOW HIM! TELL HIM I'LL TAKE RON'S PLACE! DO YOU HEAR ME?" he shouted, as he was thrown out of the building.

The guards closed two giant doors in his face, and he wasn't able to open them again, though he tried. He didn't know if he were ever to get in there again, and he actually stood there for ten minutes, hands in his pockets, considered breaking in, in some way, when he heard someone whistling a single, silent tone from around the corner. He turned around, puzzled, understandably, when he saw the strict receptionist standing at the corner, waving him towards her.

**Now, please write a review, if you feel like it ^^**


	6. Chapter 6

After some silent communication, a combination of discrete nods and body language, they ended up in a pub nearby. They sat down by a table in the corner of the pub, and drank two butterbeers that Harry bought for them. She was taking a risk, that's for sure. Harry became more confident on that for each frightened look she sent through the room, towards the door, out the window… He wasn't stupid though. He realized that she wasn't doing this just to be nice. She needed money, that was her motive, but Harry hesitated to give it to her when she told him what she had to offer.

"I don't have a file, because it doesn't exist. Not officially."

She bit her lower lip. She obviously realized that the information she came with wasn't very good.

Harry gave her a stare of great scepticism,

"Are you trying to make fun of me? 'Cause I don't have the time, nor the patience…"

"No, no!" The receptionist interrupted. "No, let me explain, please!" She said, with eyes of worry.

It was a risk in this, he knew that. He hardly knew this woman. In fact he didn't know her, and though he didn't fear her, he feared her actions. It could be a set-up of some kind. She could know nothing about this and just trick him for the money. It was bad times for everyone, everyone took the chance they got to get their share of, ever so dirty, galleons. But it was something in her that made him trust her as an informant.

Harry nodded, and took a sip of his butterbeer.

"I know what you must think of me…" the receptionist said, looking down, almost ashamed. "Working for the Death Eaters..."

She looked at him, obviously expecting him telling her that he fully understand, but when all she got was him raising an eye-brow, she continued, now in a defensive position.

"But most of the arrest are fair, you see! I actually agree in parts of their ideology, to be quite honest, I do! And it's a fine job, the pay's good!"

"Continue." Harry said. They had no time for justifications of this kind. And he didn't want to attract attention. He wasn't out in the public often. For, perhaps, obvious reasons. He was hated by both supporters, and non-supporters of the Death Eater regime, and had enemies in every corner. If he was ever to try and figure out the number on "How many people wants to kill Harry Potter?" it would be easier to ask, who doesn't. Harry never felt safe.

"I recognized the name of your friend. Ronald Weasley?"

Just the sound of his name made Harry feel rotten. He just nodded, fighting the irrational thoughts that rushed through his mind. Where was he? Where was Ron?

"I read about him in the papers. Fighting with the Order of the Pheonix in the battle of Hogwarts. One of the founders of the historical Dumbledoor's army. Helping you, assassin Tom Riddle, Bless His Memory. And married to that Hermione Granger, the mud blood with the similar background. Isn't that right?"

Harry tightened his hands in anger over the use of that word. But he put himself together. He had to let her speak.

"You mentioned another man… Draco Malfoy? That's also a known name by many. He was the one who arrested your friend, was he?"

Harry couldn't know, and so he chose not to answer her. The receptionist nodded thoughtfully.

"Then it explains everything."

Suddenly, two customers of the pub rose, turned against them, pointing their wands in Harry's direction.

"Down!" Harry yelled, and threw himself towards the floor, trying to drag the receptionist with him, before their table was hit, and it was chopped into thousands of pieces of wood. He held his arms over his head, to protect himself from the attack, though he knew that it wouldn't help if a spell got him.

In a matter of seconds, that felt like hours of screams of horror, steps of running, and bottles and furniture crashing, the doors slammed and it got silent.

"I reckognized them!" he heard the old bar man say. "They were Death Eaters!"

Harry sat up, feeling his arms for vounds or harm. Luckily, he couldn't detect any, other than his left ankle, that hurt him a bit. He'd been fortunate.

A woman gasped and shouted as he rose.

"That's him Potter, the assassin! I bet me left arm it was him they were after!"

In a brief moment, all eyes were on him, looks of judgement and anger, like he could hear their thoughts. _"It had been much better for everyone if he'd just been the boy who died." _

Wait! He'd been too busy feeling bad about himself, that he forgot all about the receptionist sitting by the table that just exploded and small and larger pieces. Harry looked around him, looking for his informant, Merlin, he felt so egocentric. He leaned over what once was a table, and sweared tremendously when he saw her, laying under large pieces of wood, with blood on the back of her head, and with wide open eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

"Get the girl" Malfoy had said in a clam manner. And it had at least gone three or five days since.

It was a fair chance that Malfoy was just having fun with Ron's nerves. Letting time pass, letting him wonder if they'd found her yet, or if they were still searching. And what they would do to her when they did find her. The thoughts made him sick, picturing his Rosie with Malfoy as her only company. He tried to distract himself, but it was no use. Everywhere he looked, he could see Rose.

Ron sat down on the floor, leaning towards the corner, his head resting towards the cold brick walls. He'd gone through a lot in this place. He'd been here for months, it felt like at least. How long could he have been here? Long enough that people started to give up on him? Started to live their lives again. In many ways he hoped so. Picturing his parents, crying over their lost son, putting up posters with his picture on it for years, never be able to live normally again… He didn't want that. He didn't want that for anyone in his life. His life had been a good one, he had to say. A happy one. And now that it could be over, he just had to deal with that. In the beginning, he wanted to be found, be released. But now it didn't matter. He was prepared.

Well, since his girls were drawn in to this, the situation had changed, hadn't it? Their family couldn't give up on them, they couldn't. Ginny. Harry. Percy. They wouldn't, would they? He sweared silently to himself. He'd feared for Hermione, and tried to deal with the fact that they might use her to get to him. They might threaten her life, they might hurt her, torture her until he gave in. But he'd prepared himself not to give in. To risk her life for the cause. He knew that she wanted that, that it was for the best. But he wouldn't risk Rose's life. If Malfoy tried to use her as a bait, Ron would fall right into his trap. Hell, if anything happened… He couldn't imagine how Malfoy could arrange this! Malfoy never had his own kids, he'd heard. But even so… To hurt a child. Who could do that? Pressure a parent through a child. Involving a little girl in conflicts like this… Rose. Oh, Merlin, Rose.

He could hear people passing by quite often, and every time he listened for that children steps. Was there even a way to notice the difference? Would he know Rose's steps if he heard them, out of the simple reason that he was her father? Did that reason even exist anymore? A whole year had gone, and children forget fast. They're so flexible. They have their own way of moving on, accept changes. It scared in some ways.

His senses sharpened immediately when he heard steps getting closer to his cell. This could be the day. This could be Hermione. This could be Rose. He listened intensely on the weight of the steps. Was this a man? An adult? His head was spinning, though he tried to focus, his mind couldn't settle. He had to, he had to focus. What was these steps like? Fast, confident… He recognized those steps. The door opened and Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway.

"You missed me, Weasley?" Malfoy said, with a smug grin, and Ron's heart practically stopped.

This _was _the day. He knew that, just by looking at the tall, blond-haired mans satisfied look. He had something. He wouldn't come if he hadn't.

"I've missed you, that's for sure." Malfoy said, doing everything he could to provoke his prisoner.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here for a while," he continued. "I've been busy with some work in Russia…"

Ron impulsively tried to stand up, but realised that his chained arms wouldn't let him. Draco pretended to ignore his reaction, but one could clearly see that he was satisfied with himself. Like Ron's anger only gave him more motivation.

"What have you done to them, where are they?" Ron asked, breaking his silence-strategy.

Malfoy stood still, as if he had a moment of hesitation, before he pointed his wand at the wall next to Ron. Ron jumped instinctively away, the three inches he was able to move with the chains, but the wall didn't crack, or fall over. Like ice melting, the brick wall slowly turned into glass, from the top of the wall going down. Behind the wall, they could soon see the walls of the neighbour room. Ron didn't understand the motive behind this, and was even more puzzled when he saw Malfoy's look, dark, almost reluctant. But he understood, all right. The moment he could see the room clearer, he understood. Behind the wall, was Hermione.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hermione…"

If he was asked to describe what happened in the following moment, he would not by far, be able to.

The sight of the woman he loved before him was overwhelmingly joyous. Her beautiful brown eyes, that had made his heart bounce every time he met them. The eyes that had given him looks of compassion, love, despair and fierceness. Her flowing hair delicately behind her ears, the way she always keeps her hair when she's reading an important file from work or a novel. Or when she's reading stories to Rose from "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" and Ron wasn't suppose to eavesdrop. Her slim hands leaning towards the thin glass wall that separated them, hands he used to hold while walking down the streets in the peaceful times. Hands that laid around his shoulders for comfort when the times were not. She was it all. The past and present. And she was almost within reach, but then again, not.

"Ron…" she answered, her lower lip shaking a bit.

He didn't know what to prefer. Not seeing her, and being far away, or seeing her, but be so close he could almost touch her. Could almost hold her slim hands in his. Kiss her forehead and ask her if she'd missed him. Telling her to never go away again. Maybe have a cup of butterbeer to celebrate their reunion. Talk about the second baby she always wanted. She could have it, he wanted to tell her. I've started to like the thought too, he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her everything, at once. And in the same time, he was lacking words. She was so close to him, and he wanted to be closer, stretching himself as long as the ropes let him, towards the wall. He had never been away from her for that long as long as he had known her, and as he saw a lonely tear gently flowing down her chin, he knew that he never wanted to be as far away from her again.

"Hermione…"

Suddenly, he could hear the echo of a conversation they had a long time ago, ringing in his ears. It was three years after the Death Eaters coup, the same year they decided to part for Rose's safety. He felt as if he was there, discussing as rationally as possible, what they would do if they were arrested and tortured.

_It's reasonable to expect that they arrest both of us, and use one of us to get the information they want out of the other," he could hear his wife say, avoiding eye contact and looking out in space._

"_It's very common procedure to use such 'black mail' in conflicted areas in the muggle-world. And in less conflicted areas, as well. It's considered quite efficient."_

"_I'm not surprised" Ron answered, making Hermione a bit insecure._

"_Well, I guess that's legitimate… But regardless of the efficiency, I think it's better of us to refuse. We've given a lot of our lives to this cause, both of us. But in spite of past sacrifices, I've concluded that we should agree… not to give in, if that dilemma arises. Only consider what's best for the common good, and the welfare of Rose. Given, we see no alternative solution, of course."_

"_Right," Ron answered vaguely, leading to a few seconds of silence before he continued._

"_What would you do?" he asked_

"_If the Death Eaters arrested us, and asked you to say everything you know or else they'd kill me." _

_Hermione looked bewildered, "I'd follow our agreement, not to give in. That's the whole point of my proposal - tell me, have you not listened to a word…"_

_Ron smiled at her angry tone, and she smiled back, slightly annoyed. _

"_I have listened," he said eventually, _

"_You should never consider to put anything or anyone at risk for me. I know I would with you…" Ron said, feeling a slight tone of pink sneaking up his neck._

"_But you shouldn't. I would never want that." _

_Hermiones smiling face melted gently into a serious one._

"_And nor should you. Promise me."_

"Are you hurt?" Ron asked at last,

"Did they hurt you?"

It was the only question that raced in his mind that made sense to ask her.

"No. But you are"

She sent a fierce look to the other side of the room, to Malfoy. Ron had almost forgotten about him.

"If you'd like me to find someone else to play with, that could be arranged." Malfoy said, eyes cold as ice.

Now Ron remembered a second question it made sense to ask. "Where is Rose?"

Just saying her name out loud made him want to vomit, but not nearly as much as the thought of the answers he could get. He'd been waiting for five days to get it. And even though he was eager to know, he dreaded it. Hermione looked down for a long time. When she looked up, her face was filled with tears.

"She's with me, Ron. She's unharmed, just standing outside this door. Listen," she interrupted Ron's shouting, with tears on her cheeks but a steady voice.

"You have to listen very closely. You will never see me or Rose again."

Ron felt as if he was awaken from a sweet dream, with a bucket of ice cold water over his head. He looked into her eyes, trying to find something that told him that something was wrong. She looked away.

"Rose will not remember you as her father, your name, nor your family's will never be mentioned to her. She will no longer have your surname, and I will no longer be married to you…"

The race of thoughts was replaced with a bewildered numbness in Ron's mind. It was like this didn't happen to him, as if he was just eavesdropping to one of Hermione's tales. He couldn't think or feel, just watched as Hermione seemingly was continuing her speech, but struggling to keep her tears back.

"Because…" she said, with sobs continuously interrupting her.

"I no longer love you." Hermione said, her voice reduced to a whisper, and with tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.

"I love Draco now."

**Write a review if you'd like, the next chapter is coming up!**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

She had expected pain. Prepared herself. But some kind of pain is impossible to prepare for.

When she turned around and walked towards the door, she knew that her life would be changed forever. She knew that she would never see the man she loved again. She knew that her daughter never would see her family again. Still, she was walking with determined steps, knowing that life would never be as good, but at least, she and her daughter would have one. Hermione wondered if she could turn around, and see her beloved one last time. Even though his skin was paler than ever, his lips dry of dehydration and his cheekbones terrifyingly apparent, his eyes were the same. But while she desperately dried her tears with her sleave, she layed her hand on the door knob, and opened the door.

A couple of hours later she was sitting in Malfoy's thestral carriage, on her way to Malfoy Manor. Rose was lying in her lap, sleeping after some tiring days, and Hermione's hand was combing her red velvet hair. She hadn't said a word to Malfoy since the Krums had taken her to his office and he presented his agreement, his eyes shining with success.

"_Here's my terms, Granger, nothing unachievable. From now on, you are my property. You will come and live with me at Malfoy Manor. You will have no further contact with any of your current acquaintances, including muggles and the Potters. And if you follow this regulations, and treat me in a respectful way as a spouse and leader, you can bring the bastard child with you. To live under the same terms, obviously. Weasley on the other hand, shall stay in his cell till his last living day. But I'll guarantee you that he will not be treated any less, than other prisoners, if you follow my next instructions: You will tell Weasley that he'll never see you or the girl again. You will tell him that you no longer wants to be married to him, but instead, loves me. And don't look at me that way, sweetie, be grateful for his life. If you don't want me to kill him, and your daughter, instead?" _

She never knew she could hate someone this much. And ironically, this was the man she was supposed to live with for the rest of her life. The man that discretely, but not indistinct, called her his _spouse_. She couldn't doubt her decision. She was in no position to spoil herself with that kind of luxury. But when the carriage turned, and she could see the giant façade of Malfoy Manor, she held her daughter closer and made a wish for their future no to be a greek tragedy.

"We're here. You should wake up the girl." Malfoy said, looking out the window.

Hermione stroked her hand over her daughters cheek, and Rose blinked a few times, and looked confused.

"Where are we, mum?"

Hermione put on a smile for Rose, and pointed out their window.

"We're at Malfoy Manor. We will live here from now on."

"Forever?" Rose sat up, looking surprised.

"What about dad?"

Surprisingly, Malfoy leaned over towards Rose, and Hermione held her hands around her, not trusting Malfoy with her girl.

"Darling…" he started saying, to Hermione's disgust.

"I know there has been a lot of changes, recently, because of some differences between your mother and the Death Eaters, you heard of them?"

Rose nodded, and Draco smiled.

"Good girl, bright as your mother. You see, unfortunately your father, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter who, I reckon… He's your uncle, yes? They have some differences with the Death Eaters. And Death Eaters, even though they sound scary…"

"I'm not that easily scared, Mr. Malfoy" Rose interrupted.

Hermione held her breath, but Malfoy sent her a reassuring smile.

"Excellent, Rosie! That means that you're not afraid of the Death Eaters, then?"

Rose shook her head. "Or you." she added with a tone of scepticism in her voice.

Draco continued, without commenting.

"You see, there's no reason to be afraid of Death Eaters. But for some reason, I must admit I can't understand, some of your family are against them. And as long as they are against them, they have to move from one place to another like you had to, and they can't see their family as much."

Hermione shivered by the description of Ron and Harry's situastion as self-inflicted. Or as much, the simplifying description in between the lines, that, if Harry and Ron decided to no longer be "against" Death Eaters, as he put it, they would never hurt them anymore. She could only hope that Rose, when she got a few years older, would see through this description and acknowledge that her father never chose to leave her. He would never let them down. To think of him, already brought tears to her eyes.

"But you and your mother, don't need to do any of that anymore. Because you live with me now, at Malfoy Manor, and neither of you have anything to fear. Do you like peacocks?"

Rose didn't seem convinced, but followed one of the Death Eaters to watch the peacocks. Hermione now sat alone in the carriage with Malfoy.

"You will learn to be happy here, Granger." Malfoy suddenly said.

"You will."

Hermione didn't answer. She wasn't so sure.


	10. Chapter 10

It was over twenty years since last time she was at Malfoy Manor, the day Bellatrix Lestrange made her taste the taste of the Crucio-spell, and a lot had been changed. It had the same, dark feel, like it had when Draco's father was master of the house, but in some way, it felt emptier, and as a consequence, larger.

They were followed up the stairs by six Death Eaters, two in front of them, two behind them, and two on each side, noone she could recognize from the old days. It was a difficult truth to acknowledge, that in spite of their long lasting struggle that took her teenage years and practically exterminated the Death Eater movement in 1998, the number of Death Eaters were the same, perhaps doubled about twenty years later. It had all happened so fast, she hadn't been able to predict it. She turned around for one moment, allowed herself to have a normal life, organizing birthday parties for her daughter, and plan family trips, and when she turned her head back again, everything was worse than before. People she believed in, people _she _voted for in elections and trusted suddenly approved of anti-muggle born laws. Malfoy became prime minister with the minister in his pocket, and she was out on the run through the European continent. Maybe they were getting paid for it. Hermione would never know. And even though her rational mind told her to stop thinking about questions with no answer, she had a need to.

What happened to the peaceful years anyway? They had all passed so quickly.

"Your rooms are up 'ere." one of the Death Eaters said, and pointed towards two doors on each side of a room.

A beautiful chandelier hang in the ceiling, and there were fresh roses standing in the window sill. Disgusting, Hermione thought to herself. Was he trying to flatter her with bouquets? Making fun of her? The Death Eater followed her into her room, and another followed Rose into hers.

The room was big enough for fourteen people to live, Hermione thought, with six windows on the wall, making a view towards the front garden and the Malfoy manor gate. She couldn't help but admire the beauty of the Malfoy Garden. Tall hedges twice as tall as an adult at least, looked like frames around the garden, each hedge surrounding a bright green lawn. Trees with great canopies, almost resting from the sun on the tree stumps, made shadows one could doze in on a summer's day. Although the garden wasn't a garden to relax in, there were not a single sign of a bench to rest on, Hermione imagined herself relaxed in that garden. It was so symmetrical, yet beautiful, in its greatness. And then it was the Malfoy Gate, made of dark, heavy steel. Hermione could already feel her heart fall down her stomach of the sight of it. Her only way to freedom. Never to be opened for her again. But she knew she did it for her daughter, and that was more than she could've said a year ago. All right, she undoubtedly rescued her daughter from watching her father get arrested, or herself in that case. But dragging her around Europe, on an endless chase after who-know-what or an escape from who-know-who? Death Eaters? Malfoy? Or reality? Looking back, Hermione was afraid that the last option was the most truthful.

She hoped Rose liked her room. If she said that not sharing room with her daughter at this stage, didn't worry her, she'd be lying. But she had to admit that Malfoy had good taste in interior. In her room, there was a double canopy bed, a pair of bedside tables, one on each side, a wardrobe, two armchairs and a coffe table between them. Traditional coal black colour, of course, probably from former Malfoy generations, but decorated with pastel coloured tablecloths. Making it "homie" in a way. Too bad her windows were all locked. Or else she might feel welcome.

The Death Eater that showed her, her room came back in, without knocking. Hermione turned around and tried to look like her former self, a lady of integrity, even though she almost felt like collapsing of tiredness.

"The master 'offers his greetings'!" The Death Eater said, bowing and waving his arm, ironically.

Hermione kept her stone face on, satisfyingly successful, if the look on the Death Eaters face was to judge.

"And he wants you to look in the envelope." he carried on, with he's brows raised.

"Be ready he said. If I 'ere you, I'd done as he said, trust me." he said, very unarticulated Hermione might add, and closed the door behind him.

Envelope? When did he plan all this, so he had time to make her an envelope? But just as the Death Eater said, there was an envelope on the left pillow on her bed. Hermione walked over to the left side of her bed, sat down and took the envelope in her hands. She tore it up with her finger nails, and read the note inside of it.

"**Come to the hall for dinner at four o****'****clock. Wear the red one.**" it said.

Already making orders… She walked over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room, and opened the doors. In the wardrobe, there was tons of clothes, both sweaters, pants, skirts and dresses. She took a closer look on the dresses. Should've guessed, Hermione thought. One of them was red.

"Ah, how beautiful you both look, ladies! Please sit!" Malfoy said, when they came downstairs at four o'clock with a tone that made Hermione feel like his pet.

She wore the red dress, and Rose wore a green one of her own choice. She hadn't received any envelope, and Hermione didn't feel anything but relieved. When she came down the stairs, Hermione wondered if she would recognize anything. After everything that happened, Hermione had forgotten a lot of what happened at the Manor, not intentionally, though she was happy she didn't remember the worst parts. Hermione remembered coming to the Manor, she remembered the Gate, and thought she recognized the main door. But after that, it was all a blank. She'd asked Ron about it once, asked him what really happened beside the synopsis. I deserve to know, she remembered saying, not very firmly, but in a tone that told him she meant business. She remembered him looking at her for a long time, with a kind of absent stare, before he timidly touch her hand with his fingers, and answered firmly as well. I know, he admitted. And I deserve not telling you.

Rose sat down at the opposite side of the table from Malfoy, and Hermione sat down in the chair next to her.

Malfoy coughed, not at all sincere, and Hermione looked up at him.

"Please," Malfoy said, with a million dollar smile.

"Sit here."

He raised his hand towards a chair on the middle of the long table, between Rose and him, with a firm look in his eyes.

Hermione rose, and walked over to the chair, in full silence. She could feel Malfoy's eyes follow her every step. Measuring her movements. She turned towards Rose and smiled, reassuringly. Rose didn't smile back.

When she sat down, Malfoy nodded, and snapped his fingers. Plates, casseroles and pots of food appeared on the table, all filled with delicious courses of all forms. Warm, thick soup, fresh salads and vegetables, a kind of bird that Hermione reckoned was pheasant and all other variations of meat, stood before them, the smells thick in the air. Rose, nor Hermione had seen so much food since their escape, and watched the table with wide eyes. Rose stretched her arm towards a plate of chicken wings, before Malfoy stopped her.

"Noone eats before the master!" Malfoy said through his teeth.

Rose looked stunned, but let go of her chicken wing, with a steady, fierce look.

Malfoy didn't eat much, but he took his time. After two hours of poking the food with his fork, he gave Hermione and Rose permission to eat the cold, but still delicious meal. While they ate, Malfoy sat on his chair and watched them as Hermione observed when she glanced over at his seat. He met her gaze, with ice cold eyes and wasn't even embarrassed. After what seemed like fifteen or twenty minutes, he waved his hand in the air. The food disappeared, even though neither of them had finished their plate, and without further comment, Malfoy rose and made a gesture that dinner was over.


	11. Chapter 11

This wasn't the first time Harry met an angry crowd when he showed himself in public. Usually, it evolved to be somewhat of a riot every time someone recognised him, but never a serious one. It saddened him in a way. The people were so crushed down under the Death Eaters regime, that they didn't even have enough fire in them to fight _him, _a traitor and murderer. They had nowill, no will to fight anyone for anything, not even fifty to one. The tight grip of the Death Eaters never seemed to stop to surprise him.

The streets were dark, only lightened up by the occasional torch that the ministry had bother to put up. Harry was alone, only the worst of drunken men and women were out of their houses at this hour nowadays, and he could call himself darn lucky for that. Because, if he met someone now, he wouldn't just be Harry Potter, the most hated wizard of his time. He would be Harry Potter, the most hated wizard of his time, carrying the body of young female employee of ministry in his arms. He was in a hurry when he left the pub, with people clearly wanting him dead, but not in such a hurry that he wasn't able to bring the receptionist's body with him. He couldn't go to her family with it, he probably had to lay it somewhere, but he could probably find somewhere better than a dodgy bar to be the place someone found their child.

Child. Speaking of children, when was the last time he spoke to his? He couldn't even remember. And soon, he realized, the bad times that changed in a flash with no one to trust but one self, wasn't a good enough excuse. Ginny was some soldier, working, looking after the children, her parents, and visiting George at St. Mungos, being in touch with his doctors and so forth. While her excuse for a husband was running around like a maniac, completely blind folded in the chase of her brother that realistically could have been dead for months. He went home in the night, usually waking up Ginny who just went to sleep, and woke up early the next morning, and went out to be early in one of his queues, or off to a meeting with a Death Eater. Percy was supposed to pitch in, he knew that. But Percy had, had some troubles with Mr. Weasley for some time. Disagreements from the time Percy excluded himself from the family all those years ago had escalated, and reached a whole new level when Ron disappeared. Now, as far as Harry knew, they didn't speak at all. Harry hated Percy for that. And he hated himself for not being good enough for her. She deserved better, she deserved the best. And his children, too.

He remembered the day that Ron disappeared. Hermione had come to their house some nights before and told him and Ginny to watch over Ron a bit the next week. When he asked her why, she looked at him with her bright, brown eyes. There was no need for words. Harry was sitting in the office, when one of his secretaries disturbed him.

"Yes?" he remembered saying, with a tone of impatience.

"It's your wife, sir. She asked you to go to your brother-in-law's house as fast as you could. She said it was an emergency."

Harry was there eighteen minutes later, ran around the corner of the house and skipped every second step of the stairs. When he reached the door he found it opened up by force, like some sort of break-in. The door knob was loose, and there was some scratches on the door. Ginny was standing in the middle of the room, her feelings clutched tight inside her as if her face was made of mosaic.

"He's gone." she said, nearly audible.

Harry walked towards her, his hand stretched out to touch her, but she turned her back against him with a fierce movement. On the table beside her lay a moving photograph, and Harry thought his legs would collapse when he saw the picture of himself. He remembered this photo, it was taken a couple of months after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry held his arm around Ron's shoulders and they were smiling, the memory of their loved ones who'd lost their lives in the battle still fresh, but their friendship more strengthened than ever. On the top of the photo someone had written the words "POTTER'S GOT IT" with an unknown hand writing. The rest of the photo was drained in dark red blood.

Harry didn't know how much of that day Ginny actually remembered. But Harry knew one thing. If anything could bring his family back together, it would be finding Ron in one piece. Ron could be hopeless, with a seventh sense for saying the worst thing at the worst time possible. He could be overly emotional and irrational. But Ron would never give up on the people he loved, even if it meant risking his own happiness, and could say the exactly right thing, at a time where no one could see a solution. His deep emotions helped him understand others in a way Harry never could, and made him a caring, loving friend. He was the best uncle he could ever grant his children, and he was Harry's best friend. And besides from his qualities, he was loved by his family, including Harry. There was no other way. He had to find him.

Harry wasn't ready to give up, yet. Besides, he had a lead. The receptionist recognized Ron's name, and had information that involved him and Malfoy in some way, that she thought could help him track him down, and even be worth some galleons. The only question was, what was that information? And why would a receptionist at the ministry's office have anything to do with Death Eater's illegal arrests? There was something missing, something important he had in some way overlooked. If he could figure out what that was, he would be on his way.

Harry stopped. He couldn't carry her much longer. He laid her down, and looked at her pale body. She couldn't be old at all, that girl, twenty five tops. It was devastating to see, even though he didn't know her. He sat down beside her, one knee on the pavement, and thought about his next move. Nothing he did would make a difference for her, she would still be dead, either way. And she was his only lead in finding Ron. Of course he had to do all it took. So he gently pulled her arms out of her jacket's sleeves, one at a time, and lifted her torso to pull her jacket towards him. Harry folded the jacket, not very gently he could admit, and put it under his right arm. Then he slowly walked away, leaving the receptionist without her uniform. As unfortunate that it was, she had no use for her uniform anymore. But he had. That uniform would be his ticket in to the ministry's office, his ticket to get closer to information about Ron. And then he would just take it from there.


	12. Chapter 12

He decided to walk home. It didn't take more than half an hour, and he had the time. Besides, when he got out of the dodgy area, it made him feel peaceful.

They'd moved to this neighbourhood after Albus Severus was born. It used to be a lively neighbourhood with lots of families, but now it was different. Quiet.

It couldn't compare to the neighbourhood where Hermione, Ron and Rose lived, though. The changes there was more complex and serious than anyone had expected. Why it was that particular area, it was hard to say, but even so it was nearly exploding. And right in the middle, lived the two greatest traitors in history. Anyone could see where that was heading. Though, he'd never picture this. He and Ginny had asked them several times to come and live with them, to get both them and Rose to a safer environment. Around that time, their neighbourhood was the safest in town, by far. But they wouldn't hear of it. They wouldn't be a burden in these times where every family struggled.

"_You know we'll never be able to pay for us, Harry" Ron said, looking down with a redness on his cheeks._

"_Hermione would never let it go if we owed you anything. Neither would I"_

Harry asked him again some months later. He asked Hermione twice. Ginny talked to them. They rejected politely, every time.

And now both of them were gone. He hadn't gotten used to it, yet. They had always been there for him. And he'd been there for them. But now Ron was locked up somewhere and Hermione… She could be anywhere. Probably out of the country. Maybe somewhere warm, Harry thought, with tall trees and beaches as long as her eyes could see. Maybe somewhere peaceful. The picture of her and Rose on an island far away, was the most beautiful thought he had, had in a long time. It even made a twinkle in his eye.

When he opened the front door, he glimpsed a soft light from the kitchen table.

"You're up?" Harry asked, while he untied his shoes.

Ginny didn't answer. He placed his shoes as tidy as he could, on the floor by the mirror, and walked in the kitchen. She leaned her head towards her fist, reading over some papers.

"Have you figured something out?" Ginny asked him, looking up for the first time during the conversation

"About my brother?"

They didn't use his name that much at home. They were both afraid that it would cause an outburst or emotional wave of some kind. It gave him the chills, though. Something about it reminded him of his first visit at Diagon Alley, and the words "You-know-who". When he made the reference to Ginny she said he was biting his own tail. Not everything was about Voldemort, she stated. And she was right, not everything is. But it made him feel uncomfortable either way.

"I'm going to the ministry tomorrow." Harry answered.

He didn't want to tell her about what had happened. With everything that had happened lately, the last thing she needed was another worry.

"The answer is no, then?" Ginny asked.

He kept her eye contact for a couple of seconds. She turned her face away. She obviously got all the answers she wanted from his face.

"You could just say, so." she said, looking down on her papers again.

This made Harry feel so helpless. He stood there and watched her for a while, trying to recognise the once so happy woman he loved. He cleared his throat.

"I would love to help you with those papers if you need rest," he said, trying to make eye contact again.

"You can't help me." Ginny said, piercing him with a look of spite and anger.

"As much as you'd love to," she added, her voice in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"What are you talking about?" Harry couldn't just let this go, even though he didn't want to fight.

Ginny was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether or not she should continue talking. She stood up and took a few steps towards him.

"Every day, I wake up alone in my bed facing reality. I'm facing that dad and Percy haven't spoken in three months time. That the pile of bills for George's treatment is growing taller every week. I'm facing that the father of my children was busy when our son went for his first year at Hogwarts!"

Harry wanted to say something, but his head was empty for words. Ginny waited a couple of seconds for a response, and when Harry didn't give her one, she got even more aggravated.

"I do that because I have no other choice. Not because I want to. That's something I learned growing up Harry, sometimes you have to do things you don't like doing!"

"And I didn't learn that, growing up with the Dursley's?!" Harry snapped.

"I'm not talking about YOU!" Ginny answered, growling.

"Then what are you talking about?!" Harry shouted, blinded by rage.

"What is it that you want to say, Ginny, just say it, whatever it is, just say it!"

Harry's head was spinning. He wanted this to stop, but he didn't know how. Why couldn't he just tell her that he loved her more than anything, that she was the most precious thing in his life, and cling to her and promise her to never let go.

"I'm talking about me, Harry! My life, the life that's been created for me. I'm talking about the fact that whatever you do, my father and Percy will always part our family in two. The fact that, in spite of all the good memories you have with Albus, he will always remember his first day at school without his father. The fact that George will never be happy again."

Harry shook his head in sorrow, tears in his eyes.

"Ginny…" he said, but she kept on talking.

"I'm talking about when I wake up every single morning and think that…"

Ginny was fighting to keep her tears back. He could see it on her face, it was so tired, so drained by bottomless sadness.

"And think that…"

Harry's knees was trembling.

"I wish you'd been taken by the Death Eaters, and not Ron." Ginny said, a single tear falling down her cheek.

"'Cause he would die, trying to find you."

And now Ginny started to cry. For the first time after George had been sad. For the first time since he was admitted to St. Mungo's. For the first time since the Death Eater's coup. For the first time since Ron was taken, Ginny let her mask fall of. Harry ran towards her and laid his arms around her, for some reason he knew she'd let him this time. She fell towards him and he held her while she screamed the worst screams he'd ever heard.

"I… Miss him. He'd know what to do. About all of this." she was able to say between her sobs, and Harry nodded, clutching her tight,

"I miss him too… I'm so sorry I can't find him, I'm so, so, sorry…" he said, feeling desperate, angry, mourning and in love at the same time.

"Where is he?" Ginny asked, and Harry stroke her soft hair, whispering.

"I don't know. I will. But I don't know."


	13. Chapter 13

If he didn't know better, he would say that the walls had grown taller, that the corner's had gone darker, that the stones against his back was colder. He would say that his cell had shrunk half its size and he would insist that the echo of Malfoy's step, still was ringing through the halls.

But he did know better, and he knew that in spite of whatever feelings he may have, the only thing that had changed was himself. The walls seemed taller because he felt small, the corner's seemed darker because of the darkness in his mind, he was the one being cold, not the stone. And it seemed like an eternity since Malfoy had been around. He hadn't seen him since… The day she said she loved him. Those word had broken every bone in his body. Just seeing her in front of him… If this world had a slightest similarity to the one he remembered, if the earth still was round and the sky still blue, she loved him, as much as he loved her. It was the only thing he could tell himself to cope. If he didn't repeat this words to himself every minute in his mind, he would have gone completely insane. And still he was shivering of emotions. The worst thing was that he knew what she'd say if she'd seen him. Don't be so irrational, she would say with an accusing voice. Getting caught up with emotions is not at all constructive. And she would shake her head, but have this twinkle in her eye telling him that the things she criticised him for, were the exact same things that made her love him.

Heavy steps were getting closer to his door, and he recognised the silly chuckles of the prison guards.

"What's the matter Weasley? A little love sick, are we?"

The three guards laughed whole heartedly. The many rumours about Hermione's visit was awfully intriguing to the ministry's employers, and had been the source of internal jokes more than once. Since she left, the guards had visited Ron at least three times every day, with various new ways to make fun of him. Today it seemed like it would be mostly teasing, though they had thrown a couple of practical jokes before.

"Honestly, champ…" another one started, just as Ron closed his eyes to try and block them out.

"Don't know why you bother!" he continued, encouraged by the other two guards chuckling and Ron's not so successful attempt to ignore them.

He knew it was the best way to get rid of them. Whatever they said or did, he needed to keep his eyes closed. That way his response couldn't encourage them. He knew it was wise. Though he rarely followed through with that strategy for a long time.

"What do you reckon, lads?!" the eager guard said, high on expectation, like a child using floo powder alone for the first time.

"To get this weepy, for a mudblood whore!"

Ron's eyes shut open. He leaped towards the door, knowing that he would be held back by the chains.

"What did you call my wife?!"

At this point it didn't matter if Hermione didn't love him. It didn't matter if she left him and broke his heart on purpose or if she was in love with Malfoy. Whatever she did, he would stand by her as her husband. Not only as her husband, but her lover, her friend and companion. And he would defend her dignity. And his blood would pump violently in his veins when he heard those words and her name in the same sentence. That would never change, though their circumstances might.

The resounding laughter of the guards, got even louder by Ron's response.

"He - he - he calls her his _wife_!" one of the guards managed to say between his heavy breath, and the laughter exploded.

Ron's rage got the best of him, and he slammed the chain around his hands against the bricks.

"Say whatever you'd like about me, but don't ever mention my wife again!"

He shouted, and the guards surprisingly enough got silent. No jokes, no laughter. The adrenalin in Ron's body pushed him to carry on.

"Trust me, this door is not heavy enough to keep me away from you if I hear you talk badly about the people I love." he said, his voice intensely low, his body nearly trembling of tension.

"And I will never let anyone threaten them. Do you understand me? Never. I would never let them down!"

As he was finishing his last sentence, he slowly realized that he wasn't just convincing those silly guards, that made Crabbe and Goyle seem like Darwin and Edison that he was protecting his family. He was convincing himself, and he was doing that for a very simple reason: He had let them down. Now and before. He'd let down his own family. As the two people he loved most in this world were away from him, maybe even with a sadistic mad man like Malfoy, he just sat there, harmstrung. He didn't know if she needed help. Maybe she told him the truth that day. But he knew one thing. She was crying. And he had actually used the time after her farewell to sit on his butt and feel sorry for himself, not even considering the possibility of helping her. The most important woman in his life. All the things he'd done, seeing them leave for their own safety, staying behind in England in case they needed him, coming here. Would he really let that go to waste, and let his wife walk away from him in tears? His wife, that clearly was in pain? And his daughter. Rose. She was with her. His daughter had been closer to him than she'd been in a year, if he'd listened closer he may had been able to hear her steps as she walked past his door. Ron remembered the desperation rushing through him as Hermione had told him where Rose was. The irresistible longing and need to see her combined with the rational fear at the thought of his daughter within the reach of murderers. If Malfoy had laid a finger on her… He had to stop that from happening. Wherever they were, he had to protect them. And now he had thought of a way.

"While I have your attention" Ron said, quickly.

"I would like you to bring a message to Malfoy…"

"He's not here!" one of the guards said, obviously regaining confidence. Ron could hear it on his voice.

"He's at his mansion 'not to be disturbed'" he proclaimed that as if he'd memorised it in front of the mirror. He might have.

"Well, there ought to be someone here in his place, then?" Ron said, with an impatient tone.

"The prison supervisor" another guard answered.

"What's your message, sir?" he added. Ron overlooked that attempted provocation.

"Tell the supervisor…" Ron said, pausing, while thinking over his plan once more.

Did he even call this crazy impulse a "plan"? He could see Hermione's shocked expression before him. Her eyes widened, her brow's coming closer above her nose. Her mouth slightly opened. Her thoughts reflected in her eyes, think it over, are you stupid, think it over! But if this isn't a plan, but just a crazy impulse…he felt as if he was talking to her, as if she could hear him. Then he didn't need to think it over once more, did he?

"Tell the supervisor…" his second attempt was way more confident.

"That Ron Weasley has information about the Deathly Hallows that he's willing to share. And that he's willing to do some business."

**Next chapter coming soon. If you have anything to share, write a review.**


	14. Chapter 14

Four hours later, Ron heard another set of steps coming towards his door. The steps were determined, and had a stubbornness to them when the heel of one of the shoes (that he thought could be high heeled shoes for women) hit the stone floor beneath it. Ron tried to cool himself. Whatever happened he needed to seem calm and confident in the eyes of the prison supervisor. He was suppose to bargain, and to give the impression of being a reliable, serious business man, he had to put his act together.

That was his last undisturbed thought, because in the next moment, his cell door opened and brought a bright light in to his cell. His eyes fought to adjust to the light, and a moment later he raised his hand over his brow, and lifted his face to see the prison supervisor for the first time. What he didn't expect, was to see a familiar face in front of him. Grown from a teenager to an adult, but still recognisable, the once mean Slytherin bully Pansy Parkinson stood before him, with her hands on her hips and an indifferent expression on her face.

"Hello, Weasley. You remember me, I can see." she said, and smiled while she walked in and closed the door behind her. A hairpin hold her hair together, and she held a large leather bag in her left hand, her wand in her right.

Ron was still astonished that Pansy Parkinson, of all people, worked at Malfoy's prison, and was here to talk to him about the future of his hostage family. Not that he didn't think she was capable, in fact, he thought that running an illegal prison and kidnapping children was right down her street. But he hadn't seen this person since he was, what, eighteen, maybe twenty, and here she was. A ghost of the past.

She whipped her wand in the same manner as Malfoy, and a table and two chairs appeared. She pointed her wand towards Ron, and before he ducked for her spell, he could feel his wrists become lighter, and the grip around his ankles less tighter. His chains were gone.

Ron looked up at Parkinson, half suspicious, half amazed that she was freeing him. She raised her eye brow.

"Surprised?" she asked him, and continued, with a platitude in her voice.

"I have a wand with me that I can use to whatever purpose I wish. You don't. And if we're going to do business we need to act as equals. You _are_ in fact a pureblood. In spite of your questionable relations with other kinds."

Her eyes gloomed of judgement for a few seconds, before it lightened up in a smile.

"Sit down please," she said, gesturing towards the chair opposite her.

Ron rose up, slowly, and pulled out the chair. He sat down, watching Parkinson smiling. She leaned backwards, towards the back of her chair and added, confidently,

"so we can talk about the important information you don't have, about the Deathly Hallows."

She knew. She knew he'd lied when he said he had more information about the Hallows. He, Hermione and Harry never held anything back from the public. They'd told every newspaper what had happened, attended more seminars than he could count, and had excluded no details, as to make themselves less interesting to the press later. He'd taken a chance, and she'd seen right through him. Ron felt a rush of panic, but kept his poker face on and tried to answer as collected as possible.

"What do you mean 'don't have'? You're no longer interested in…?" he was interrupted by Parkinson, who sat up and pointed her wand at him with a prompt movement.

"Cut the crap, Weasley. You don't know anything else than the rest of us, your memory was checked almost a year ago. I know what's been going on, I can read you like an open book." she said, not a hint of a smile on her face anymore.

"You were so stupid, that you attempted to bluff the entire Death Eater's movement and the ministry with false information, so that we would give you your little princess back. You were so gullible," she barked harshly, leaning towards him with her wand still pointed at him,

"that you thought you could just make up a story about the Hallows being hidden somewhere, and we wouldn't double check it. But the stupidest thing you did, was trying to bluff _me_. 'Cause you would never pull that off."

Ron could clearly see that she was satisfied with herself, she sat back, her back and neck straight.

"If that's so, why did you come here?" Ron asked.

She looked him in the eye, with a wilderness in her stare that lasted for about half a second. Ron expected her to dislike his direct questions. But she'd just said that they were there as equals, so to Ron's amusement, she was forced by her own words to answer him calmly and polite.

"Excellent question," she said at last, as she supported her elbows on the table.

"I came here, Ron, because I, in spite of my judgement towards you for trying to waste my time, understand your despair."

She looked him in the eye again, now trying to look sympathetic.

"I understand your regret for not being a good enough husband for your wife, clever and beautiful as she is, and for not being a good enough father for your daughter."

Ron interrupted her, "You don't know anything about my regrets."

He tried not to raise his voice, and first and foremost tried not to listen to her. She obviously tried to manipulate him, get into his head, push him over the edge. But even though he saw right through her, something in him refused not to listen. A small part of him, let her words sink in, and let her voice embalm his ears. That was the part of him that agreed with her. The one that drove him to do this. To sit in a meeting with this woman, without anything to offer aside from prayers and promises. She knew that as well. He shouldn't be surprised. Reluctant as he was to admit it, Pansy Parkinson had been stunningly intelligent. She became a Prefect alongside Malfoy in her school years. Her OWLs had been extraordinary, according to rumours. He remembered thinking that Hermione was the only girl in school that beat her. And she beat her good.

Parkinson didn't approve of his interruption. She watched him closely for what felt like several minutes, before she said.

"I wouldn't feel ashamed if I were you, Ron. Even though the role of a failure is hard to carry, you're not alone."

Ron looked down. For some silly reason he couldn't help but fall for it.

Parkinson clearly got what she wanted. She rose, whipped her wand so her own chair and the table disappeared, and made Ron shook from the tightening around his ancles again.

"I brought these, by the way, you can have them if you like. Don't worry, they're not poisonous, none of them are opened."

She opened the large leather bag, and picked up a large bottle of firewhiskey. She sat it by his chair, together with five or six more.

"That will last through the week, I'd think." she said, watching them as she still considered to give him more.

"Just to ease the sorrow."

Ron didn't answer, but watched her as she left the room (again, blinded by the light from the hallway) and looked after her a few moments after she'd closed the door. He then looked down at the bottles for a while. To ease the sorrow… He felt sorrow. She was right about some of the things she said, whatever purpose it was that led her to say it. He gently picked one up to hold it in his hand. He hadn't had a drink for ages. And it was sealed and unopened as she promised. Maybe he could open it just to smell the scent… It was crazy. Was he going to get drunk now, to make things worse? No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. He put his nose closer to the bottle to smell it again. He could just take a sip, that would be all, just a sip. Parkinson's voice was still whispering into his ear.

"_I understand your regret for not being a good enough husband for your wife, clever and beautiful as she is, and for not being a good enough father for your daughter."_

If he took a sip of this it might go away.


	15. Chapter 15

At Malfoy Manor it was time for breakfast, but the once so quiet morning hour was interrupted by a mother pounding furiously at her bedroom door. Rose had been led to her bed room two hours after dinner the day before, and Hermione had been refused to see her since then. Eighteen hours had gone by. And Hermione was not to leave her room before a guard opened her door at seven o'clock. She had tried to call for them to open the door, but it was no use, her door was locked, and twice as heavy as her. She sat down at the tip of her bed, considering giving the pounding another go. In the corner of her mind she knew that Rose wasn't in danger. Malfoy wasn't the most honourable man she'd known but he wouldn't break his promise like this. They had made a deal, and if his intention was to break that deal and hurt Rose, there was no use in bringing them all the way here. He could just have taken her when they were in his office. No, he didn't want that, Rose was safe for now. But it had never been a part of their deal that Rose and her would be in separate rooms, only to see each other at certain times. He had no right. She had come here for one reason, and that reason was to secure her daughter, and keep her from harm. To make a better life for her daughter than the life on the run Hermione had given her. But if this was the alternative, she'd made refugees out of her and Rose any day. Malfoy couldn't keep them apart. He couldn't.

But as these thoughts reached her mind, she knew that she was wrong. Malfoy could do whatever he liked. He was the most powerful wizard in Britain, maybe in Europe too. Every Death Eater listened to him, he was a respected man. And she wasn't respected by anyone, in spite of all the respect she used to have in English politics. She was wrong about another thing as well. She wasn't doing this just for Rose's safety, but for Ron's as well. Malfoy had made it quite clear that neither Rose's nor Ron's lives was of any interest of him, and even though she should've considered Rose's welfare first, she knew she'd lost her judgement when he brought her husbands name to the table. Malfoy, who'd never found love, knew exactly what to say. And Ron would hate it, if he knew. Hermione couldn't know what would have happened if she refused to come with him and lie to Ron. Malfoy might have killed her and Rose on the spot, or taken Rose away from her to use her for future deal making. But as she sat alone, imprisoned and away from Rose, she wished she would have taken the chance. She thought of a conversation she had had with Ron over a year ago. It was a dark night and they sat together, their hands twirled together, but their glances distant. She could picture his face, slightly pink as he told her,

"_You should never consider to put anything or anyone at risk for me. I know I would with you, but you shouldn't. I would never want that"_

With the last five words echoing in her mind she ran towards the door and started to violently twist the doorknob. What would he say if he knew all this? That she'd surrendered herself and Rose to the people they'd sacrificed everything to escape from, and even moved in with the man that had hated Ron and his family since their school years. He would probably understand that she was in a difficult situation, but when Hermione thought about what had happened the last few days, the Krum's kidnapping, Malfoy's office, the dinner, she asked herself: Would he ever forgive her? And would she ever forgive herself?

At that moment, she felt someone on the other side of the door grab the doorknob, and she let go and stepped a couple of steps backwards.

"Good morning, missy." a voice said, while the door slowly opened.

"Mr. Malfoy and the girl awaits you in the Main Hall. There are a few guests as well and Mr. Malfoy says…"

Before the guard could finish his sentence, Hermione ran beside him and went for the stairs. Even though the guard was in quite good shape, the element of surprise got to him, and Hermione got a head start.

"Wait! Come back here!" he called, but Hermione was already at the ground floor.

She followed a couple of doors that she recognised, and found herself in front of the door leading to the Main Hall.

"Malfoy!" she called, furiously, but it wasn't just Malfoy sitting at the breakfast table.

Beside Malfoy who where sitting at the end of the table, she saw her old friend Victor Krum. He looked up at her, with an expression that showed a combination of surprise, worry and shame. Opposite him, Mrs Krum sat. Her back was straight as a soldier, and she held her arm firmly around Rose's shoulders, who sat in the next chair. The three adults looked as if they were paralyzed, almost as if they were in disbelief. But Rose was not.

"Mum!" she cried, and ripped herself out of Mrs. Krum's arms. She kicked her chair behind her and ran to Hermione's side. Hermione reached for her hand, and Rose took it and stood beside her turned towards Malfoy and the Krums.

"Now," Malfoy said after a couple of confused seconds.

"This was some unexpected events…" He looked at Rose and Hermione, with an absent minded look.

"Especially with visitors present" he said, now, looking firm at them.

"You promised me that Rose would be safe here, Malfoy!" Hermione said, fiercely.

"But you have held her from her mother, and that is the exact opposite of keeping her safe!"

Awaiting a response, Hermione kept eye contact with Malfoy, who looked annoyed rather than interested. He sighed before he put his hand in the air and waved towards them. A couple of guards came in to the room and went for Rose and Hermione. Hermione put both of her arms around Rose and tried to shield her from the two violent guards. While she held around her she said all the things she had wanted to say for so long. It was as if neither Malfoy, nor the Krums was present, as if she and Rose were safe and together. She spoke to her daughter like a mother.

"Rose, your father loves you. Everything he does is for you, do you hear me?"

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione suddenly heard Malfoy say.

"It's a woman and a child, for Merlin's sake, hold them!"

Hermione kept on talking, her lips against her daughters ear.

"He misses you every minute, darling. Your father misses you so much, and his one wish is for us to be together. What did I just say?"

Rose trembled, bit whispered back to Hermione.

"Dad misses me every minute and he wish we'd be together."

Hermione felt her fingers losing grip around Rose, and clinged to her with all her force. Rose could feel the same thing and clutched to her mothers clothing.

"We love you, Rose." Hermione said, just as she felt the guards grip around her shoulders tighten.

As the guards managed to separate them, in spite of Hermione and Rose's stubborn resistment, Malfoy's voice was peaceful and quiet, as he said,

"You are obviously in great distress, Hermione, so I will let this go for now. I suggest that you and Mrs. Krum find somewhere peaceful to sit together, while the child will be here with us."

Rose screamed out of pure fright, and Hermione turned to Malfoy with hatred in her look. Her breath heaved, but she held eye contact with Malfoy knowing that words never would get through to him. But Mrs. Krum rose and led the guards as they forced Hermione out of the room. Rose cried after her, Hermione tried to fight, but in a moment Rose was behind a closed door. Hermione panicked. She started to cry after her daughter, even though she knew it wouldn't lead to anything. She cried out her name time after time, and tried to pull herself towards the door, before she cried, hoarsely,

"You lied, Malfoy! You're a liar!"


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione didn't register where she was taken. She only heard Mrs. Krum instructing the guards, muttering words like '… here' and '… this chair' and felt her knees being forced to bend. She listened intently for Rose's voice, but couldn't hear her anymore. They seemed to have moved her to another part of the mansion. Hermione couldn't concentrate, she just longed to hear her daughter again, given just another chance to hold her. Hold around her small body, feeling her fingers clutching her clothes and hands. Smell the scent of her hair and feeling her soft skin towards her own. She wouldn't let go, this time. She promised.

When she pulled herself together she could see she was in some kind of library. Bookshelves up towards the ceiling, filled with old books and parchment. Hermione knew that it was several libraries in the mansion, but she'd never been in this one. The walls were emerald green and the furniture in matching colours. There was a fire place behind her and a soft carpet under her feet. The windows were covered by large, thick, curtains, also in green. In the right corner next to the curtains, there was a large teak desk with maps on it. She would have enjoyed this room a lot, had she been in another situation. The guards left the room and Hermione and Mrs. Krum were alone. Hermione looked at the guards opening the large doors.

"Sit here, don't move." Vera Krum said with a stern look.

Hermione looked back at her, feeling bewildered and confused, and had trouble resisting her words. Mrs. Krum sat down in an armchair opposite her, without a word. Hermione's mind couldn't interpret or understand what was happening. It was if her mind was frozen, and her thoughts were at random, the first making less sense than the next. Her voice trembled.

"Why are we here? What are they doing to my daughter? Why isn't she here…?"

Mrs. Krum broke her of with an impatient tone,

"You are a fool with your questions!" she said, sounding like a barking dog, her face twisted into something unrecognizable.

She held her manner for a few seconds, before her face softened. In that face, Hermione could see a lady who was tired. A lady who had been hurt more than once. And she could see bitterness. Mrs. Krum folded her hands in her lap, and spoke to Hermione with a low, soft voice.

"This deal was made many…long time ago" Mrs. Krum said.

She held a stubborn look, and Hermione tried to force herself to think rationally. Tried to force herself to make out a sentence of the words Mrs. Krum had said. 'Deal' 'Made'…

"What deal? And why are you here?" she asked Mrs. Krum

Hermione still felt a little baffled, but her mind seemed to clear up. There was something going on, and she needed to know what it was. Mrs. Krum noticed the difference in Hermione's tone. She looked at her with a serious look, and a kind of twinkle, Hermione thought, of pity.

"Mr. Malfoy is a man of… Tradition," she said, pausing perhaps to remember the English words, perhaps to buy herself some time.

"Mr. Malfoy thinks that matters like this is to speak of woman to woman. Not man."

Her voice was stern, in a way that told Hermione she agreed.

"It's a matter for women. For mothers." Mrs. Krum said, suddenly lowering her head as in resentment.

'For mothers' she said. Hermione remembered when she first came into her home in Moscow. She remembered feeling oddly about their home. The walls were empty without a single photograph or decoration, she remembered the dark colours. It wasn't a home for a family. And the nursery room, the only room that was remotely decorated and equipped, with a children's bed that fitted Rose perfectly, but looked almost brand new out of lack of use.

"You used to be a mother." Hermione stated, watching as Mrs Krum's muscles tightened and her folded hands twitched.

Mrs. Krum looked up at her in spite.

"When you have a child, you are a mother forever." she said slowly.

"No change." she added.

Hermione observed her with narrow eyes. She could see from her reaction that her emotions were truthful. Her look that felt like blades thrusting through her body, filled with anger, but not aggressiveness. It was anger of sorrow and disappointment. Hermione took the chance of asking her more questions.

"When did your child die?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Mrs. Krum looked at her with fierce rage in her face. Hermione thought she would stand up and throw her chair towards the bookshelves. Instead she sat on the edge of the armchair, leaning towards Hermione, so she could feel her breath as she yelled.

"He didn't _die_! You say '_die_' but he didn't just die! He was _murdered_! By people like you!"

She sat back in her chair and laid her hand over her mouth, obviously feeling as if she crossed the line. Hermione was stunned. Not only because this woman had lost her child, but that her son had been murdered by someone, and that someone was 'like her'. What did she mean? Was Hermione to blame for her sons death in any indirect way? She hadn't had much to do with global politics in her career, but she had attended a few meetings and conferences to share her opinions on global matters. Could it be that she was responsible? Or was Mrs. Krum out of her mind? Mrs. Krum leant forward again, like she was about to say more.

"We lived in Bulgaria the first years. It was good, it was happy. But after some years, it was not good anymore. People were fighting. They… stole from each other. On the one side, people like Malfoy, on the other side people like you."¨

Now she knew what Mrs. Krum had meant. People like her, was people fighting against the Death Eater's coup.

"One day, little Viktor was going to school…" Mrs. Krum said, suddenly in some kind of trance.

"And your people… murdered him. No reason. No… explaining."

Hermione looked down. Civil wars was the worst kind of war. The people of a nation fought against each other, when they should be supporting each other. Instead they killed their neighbour's children. Mrs. Krum sat still, and stared at something hidden for Hermione's eyes.

"That was when we went to Russia. We wanted a new family. But no child."

Mrs. Krum now looked up at Hermione. In some way, this had something to do with her. This tragic story of the Krum family falling apart, was connected with her family. The realization was slow, but even, like a wave gently touching the land, making the white sand on a beach darker and darker.

"That's what your doing with Rose, isn't it?" Hermione asked her, feeling a shock of panic pounding in her veins.

This couldn't be, it was to absurd. They couldn't honestly think that this was sane.

"You want her to be your new child."

Mrs. Krum answered quickly, as if she'd rehearsed.

"When we contacted Death Eaters about your visit to us in Moscow, Mr. Malfoy was very grateful. He wanted to give us something in return. That was when the deal was made."

Her face was empty, and her voice was steady.

"When we brought you to him, the girl would be ours. We would wait for some days, before we came to get her. Our husbands are making the final touch on the agreement. Then we go."

Hermione didn't know what she were doing. In a rush of instinct, she threw herself at Mrs. Krum, getting a grip around her left arm and right wrist. She pushed Mrs. Krums legs down with her knee.

"ROSE IS NOT YOUR DAUGHTER! SHE'S MINE AND HER FATHER IS MY HUSBAND! YOU WILL NEVER LOVE HER THE WAY I DO! AND SHE WILL NEVER LOVE YOU! DON'T EVER CALL ROSE YOUR 'DAUGHTER' AND DON'T EVER CALL MALFOY MY 'HUSBAND'! SHE WILL NEVER LOVE YOU!"

Some guards that heard them came in the room and dragged Hermione away. She had nothing to fight with, the shock and sorrow had taken her strength.

Mrs. Krum rose from her chair, and stroke her jacket to straighten it from Hermione's attack.

"Goodbye." she said, and walked towards the door.

Hermione didn't stand, the guards were holding her entire body weight. She took a deep breath through the sobs, and said the only thing her rational mind could think of.

"IF YOU TAKE MY DAUGHTER AWAY, YOU WILL TAKE HER AWAY FROM HER FAMILY, JUST AS THE MURDERERS TOOK VIKTOR! YOU GIVE HIM NO HONOUR IF YOU DO THIS!"

Surprisingly enough, Mrs. Krum stopped. She turned around, and for the first time since they've met, and since she told the story of the death of her son, a tear was twinkling in the corner of her eye.

Hermione sobbed desperately. But she managed to hold her sobs back, and whisper with the last of her breath.

"Please spare my daughter. If you have any mercy, spare my daughter. Help her to get home to her family, that loves her. Bring her to my family."

Mrs. Krum didn't answer, but looked at Hermione with watery eyes.

"I will take care of her." she said, walked out of the door, and left Hermione clinging to the hope that she might have given her daughter a bittersweet life. That was the best she could offer.


	17. Chapter 17

So, they just stood there. Harry, clutching his arms around Ginny, comforting her as much as he could as he stroke her neck and shoulders and let her lean against his torso. Ginny, at first crying desperately, letting go of every emotion she had felt during the last five years. It felt as if they stood there for hours. He couldn't say exactly when, but as the time went by, Ginny's sobs seemed to get calmer, her body's shudders wasn't as regular, and her weight shifted. After a while she was standing on her own two feet, still close with his arms around her, looking at his face.

"I'm so sorry." she said, with that serious, genuine tone he recognized.

"I'm sorry about what I said about you and the Death Eaters. Merlin knows I didn't mean it. Never."

As the last word slipped her lips, she laid her hand comforting over his cheek. He was terribly hurt by what she'd said, more than he'd ever thought she'd make him, but he was even happier she was back. Back from this cold, harsh place she'd been all of these years. And he could understand her for feeling that way. He could recognize her agony in himself. He turned his head and kissed her hand, before he smiled to her and asked,

"Do you want to sit down?"

They did. They sat down together on their sofa, each back leaning against each armrest, their legs clutching as if they were teenagers. When they stretched, their hands could just reach each other, the tips of his fingers pressing against hers. And then they started talking.

"After the Battle, everything changed so quickly." Ginny said, looking into Harry's eyes, rather than looking away like she used to do.

"I'd found the love of my life," she made a silly, smirk that made Harry laugh silently.

"But I had lost another person I loved. And you see, the feelings both of those experiences gave me... That giggly, childlike kind of bottomless happiness. And the sorrow. The confusing, wrenching pain, that feeling of loss. You see, I could never unite them."

Harry didn't know what to respond, but he remembered feeling the same way. The losses of the Battle was difficult for everyone. The sense of victory after they'd won had been so bittersweet. Like losing your family and best friends could be 'winning'. It wasn't 'winning' it was just 'not losing'.

"It was easier the first years," Ginny continued.

"While we were at Hogwarts and the most important thing to worry about was the next potion's test. But really, it was a lie. And I realized that after I had taken my OWL's and came home. Not home to a strong union of love and faithfulness, but to something broken. The whole country seemed broken, after all those years. And the years went by, we made a family and I felt as happy as I've ever felt. But at the exact time I felt that I was ready to go on and be myself again, George got sicker and the whole family panicked. There wasn't any room for feeling happy about the good things… They were just overshadowed by chaos."

"I know." Harry said, at last, feeling like an idiot for not knowing what to say. But in some way the short answer was enough. Just him answering, was enough.

"So that's why I started to bottle my feelings up. I figured it was easier to hide my emotions, rather than having to justify them when I expressed them. The guilt of happiness when my brother was ill, and the guilt of sorrow when I'd just given birth… It was too much to carry. Whatever I did, I…"

She didn't finish her sentence. Harry leaned towards her and squeezed her hands tightly. He was sorry he hadn't seen it, he was sorry he hadn't understood. And he was glad that she told him. He hoped that his one gesture could tell her all that. She smiled to him with gratitude.

"When Hermione left, I, I, think I was in shock." Harry said, partly because he felt obligated to share something as well, partly because he needed to say it.

"It sound stupid, and I knew it was for the best for her and Rose… But either way, I was so sad when I knew she was gone. I've never been without her, you know. And I've never been unable to be with her when she needed me. But now I am. Ron was too. And if there's something I regret, I regret that I didn't spend enough time with him." Harry looked up at her, as he dared to say his name, but Ginny held his look and concentrated on what he said.

"I don't know if I could've prevented anything, but I knew he was unhappy. I shouldn't let him be unhappy."

Ginny nodded, "I should have been there for him too. It happened so fast."

They were silent for a few seconds, before Ginny took a short breath and looked at him in a quick movement.

"Is there anything you haven't told me? About Ron? 'Cause I want to know, Harry. Whatever it is."

Harry considered his situation for a second, before he started to tell her about his day at the ministry. When he'd finished the story, her brow was covered with tiny wrinkles of thought, and she asked him the question he had asked himself so many times on his way home.

"But we don't know if she actually knew something, do we? It could have been a scam."

Harry nodded, "Yeah, it might have. But she recognized Ron's name, and Hermione's even though I hadn't mentioned her at all."

"And she associated them with Malfoy in some way?" Ginny said, thinking out loud.

"She still could have made it up, though. You've spoken a lot in public during the last years and especially Hermione with her politics, it isn't surprising that she knew your names."

Harry knew she was right. He'd even considered that possibility while they talked. But he had a feeling… He had a feeling it was something more. Before she even talked about Ron, she had an urge to justify herself and her job at the ministry. Why would she do that, if not for his approval? Why would she use all that time to excuse herself if she was just after his money? This didn't mean she didn't lie. And he loved Ginny for being honest with him. But it did mean something. It meant that it was a fair chance that she didn't lie, after all.

"But, if she did tell the truth, and actually had some information," he said, and Ginny nodded patiently.

"Then I need to get into the ministry and get access to her stuff. It's the only way."

Ginny suddenly smiled widely and raised her eye brows.

"Really?" she said, in a tone that sounded amused. Harry looked baffled at her, which apparently made whatever it was even funnier.

"You can't go in there, Harry. It's got to be me."

Harry couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He looked at her, trying to see if she was joking, but all she seemed to want to joke about was his apparently silly suggestion about going in there himself.

"It's a women's uniform, Harry. It's probably got a name on it, and everything. Don't tell me they won't suspect anything if they see a man in a women's uniform trying to get into the ministry?"

Now Harry looked at her, not in confusion but in seriousness.

"Ginny. You can't go in there."

Ginny obviously didn't take his order very seriously.

"Why, because you don't want to sit here and worry about me? What do you think I've done every day?"

Harry couldn't reason, he couldn't think of any convincing pro's and con's. He just knew that he couldn't let her do it.

"You can't, Ginny." he repeated, sensing that his eyes were getting watery.

"You can't go in there. I love you, I can't loose you."

Suddenly Ginny knew what Harry needed, as of instinct. She sat up to lay her hand against his cheek like she always did, and spoke to him with words of warmth.

"Harry, whatever you do you can't protect me from everything. You have to trust me." she said, and gently kissed his forehead.

Harry shook his head, but let her hold her hand safely around it, while he spoke.

"You can't use your wand… You can't use the Cloak… With all those bloody shielding spells you have nothing to fight with." Harry said, in the whisper that was left of his voice.

"You mean I have to be like a Muggle? I think I'd do all right."

She didn't mock him. But she said it in a light carefree voice, that calmed him. He knew she was right. Someone was bound to realize that he was an imposter if he tried to use the uniform of the receptionist. What had he been thinking, really? But he was so scared, so scared that his hands were shaking. If anything happened to her he didn't know what he'd do. If he lost her, he would in turn lose himself.

"And Harry," Ginny said, now not in the light, carefree tone, but in the most truthful and serious tone he'd ever heard.

"Ron is my brother. He's my big brother. And he might die. If I don't do whatever I can to help him, I don't know what will happen. To him, to us, to me… So if you support me or not, I'm in. I'm in, Harry."


End file.
